Winds of Enchantment
by EmeraldRomance
Summary: As the sole royal heir, Emma is used to getting what (and who) she wants. But with war looming in the Enchanted Forest, will she succeed in capturing the heart of her childhood crush? Or, will the dashing stranger who sees right through her charms claim her as his own? An AU experiment heavily influenced by Gone with the Wind. Captain Swan/Lieutenant Duckling.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N**: Recently, I was inspired (then somewhat challenged) to explore an AU story in which OUAT meets _Gone with the Wind_. I don't claim to be an 'expert' on either, though I am a huge fan of both, so I figured I'd give it a try. It goes without saying that several of the OUAT characters will be OOC – at least for awhile. Imagine GWTW set in the EF with a hint of Lieutenant Duckling in which the Lieutenant is more dashing rapscallion than naval officer. Anyhow, I hope you enjoy it. I definitely, humbly beseech you for feedback on this one, since it is somewhat of an experiment. Thanks!

Chapter One

"Hold still, your highness!"

Emma silently tightened her grasp on the bedpost, wincing as the corset bit further into her waist. "What is it now?" She asked, her voice somewhat strained by lack of oxygen.

Granny slipped the measuring tape around Emma's waist. "Eighteen inches," she replied. Her ruddy cheeks were more flushed than usual, strands of gray hair escaping her severe bun. "Vanity is certainly not a becoming quality," she muttered. "Not even for a princess."

Emma's lips twitched at Granny's grumbling. After all these years, Emma knew better than to take offense at her words. While not her true biological grandmother, Granny had watched over Emma since birth. She knew that any criticism was weighted with equal parts affection and trusted her above almost anyone else, certainly beyond any of the other servants. "You always say that, but you take almost as much pride in my appearance as I do."

Granny's mouth tightened. "And I see your modesty has not improved, either."

Smile widening, Emma turned toward the full length mirror, holding her new gown before her. The pattern of delicate moss dancing in the billowing white chiffon and taffeta set Emma's own green eyes sparkling. "I want to look so beautiful that all the young men will fall instantly in love with me," she remarked. Emma's thoughts filled with a pair of gentle brown eyes and an easy smile set within a handsome face. She meant what she said about desiring attention, but in truth, there was only one man she truly wanted.

Granny huffed. "I pity those young men already." Taking the dress from Emma's hands, she motioned toward the tea tray set beside the bed. "Eat your breakfast and then we'll finish getting you dressed."

Emma scowled – a patented sort of pout that she'd perfected as child. "I'm not hungry. I'm too excited to eat a bite. Besides, I prefer to wait for the banquet."

"You'll do no such thing. You'll make a glutton of yourself and turn away all those young men you plan to ensnare," Granny chastised.

"That's just a myth," Emma challenged. "Why, just the other day, Lord Cassidy commented that he admired a woman with a healthy appetite."

Granny's head tilted, her sharp gaze cutting straight through Emma's argument. "He may admire a woman like that, but I don't see him clamoring to ask for your hand."

Emma's eyes darkened, a true sulk furrowing her brow. With indulgent footsteps, she carried herself to the settee and proceeded to shove two pastries past her pouting lips. Granny rolled her eyes but said nothing. At nearly twenty years of age, Emma knew she was well beyond such childish behavior, though as the only child of Queen Snow White and Prince Charming, no one – not even Granny – dared to say too much about it.

"Have you decided which gown you'll wear this afternoon?" Granny asked, quite effectively changing the topic.

"The white one," Emma replied.

Granny spun to face her. "That dress isn't suited for the daytime. People will talk."

Emma laughed, her mood instantly lightened. "Yes. They will, won't they?"

"Emma darling, are you nearly ready? The carriage is here." The soft voice of Emma's mother preceded her appearance. Queen Snow White was widely recognized as the most beautiful lady in all the realms. With porcelain skin, hair as black as a raven's wing, and eyes like the purest emerald, her beauty was already almost too attracting. That she possessed a charitable nature and a true heart made her irresistible. Snow White's people loved her, as did her family. But that love was returned ten-fold. From Emma's earliest memory, she'd been in awe of her mother; admiring, yet not fully understanding Snow White's dedication to giving of herself so selflessly.

"Yes, almost," Emma replied. Setting aside the remains of her breakfast, Emma motioned for Granny to help her dress. A wordless battle ensued as the older woman hesitated, displaying her disapproval most clearly. Emma nodded her head firmly, insistence plain in her eyes. Granny sighed before slipping the fabric carefully over Emma's blonde curls.

"Oh Emma," Snow White breathed. "That dress is lovely. But, it's been so long since I've attended a gathering such as this that I fear I'm behind on the latest fashions. Times really have changed, it seems. Young ladies were never encouraged to share so much of their…delights…before the actual ball."

Granny's mouth curved upwards as Emma's own expression fell. "Yes, mother."

"Perhaps you'd like to borrow my shawl for the afternoon?" Snow White suggested. "It would certainly help keep your gown fresh for the evening."

"I'll just go and find it," Granny offered, leaving mother and daughter alone.

Emma searched her mother's expression, ever seeking her reassurance. Snow White smiled wryly before stepping closer and smoothing several ruffles which framed Emma's bosom. "My beautiful girl; you'll break some man's heart one of these days."

Warmth lifted through Emma's body from her toes to the fine bones of her cheeks. Beaming, she replied, "Shouldn't I rather try to claim his heart?"

Snow White's expression turned wistful. "I hope for nothing less. And one day, you'll find a man that your own heart won't be able to resist."

"Perhaps," Emma acknowledged, all the while feeding her imagination again with images of a crowded ballroom, bedecked in her beautiful gown and sweeping across the room in a perfect waltz with Neal Cassidy.

"Shall we go?" Snow White interrupted Emma's day-dreaming. She looped her arm through Emma's as they descended toward the large entryway of the royal palace. "I'm anxious to meet with the visiting delegates about the ogre problem. Lord French will be there," Snow White said, squeezing Emma's arm lightly.

"I'll be glad to see Belle. It's been awhile since we've had a chance to catch up, not since she left on her tour of the neighboring realms." Emma eyed her mother with a hint of accusation. It was no great secret that Emma had greatly desired to join Belle on her trip. Snow White and Charming had objected, claiming it wasn't safe for the royal heir to journey so far from home given the mounting tension with the ogres.

Snow White patted Emma's arm. "Yes, I imagine she'll have quite a lot to tell you. I hear even King Alaric of the fairies is attending, and he's bringing his daughter, Tinker Bell. You used to be such great friends."

A bitter taste welled in Emma's mouth as heavy discord chased all the remnants of her happy fantasy away. She scoffed; "We used to be friends. Perfect, sweet-natured, pixie-faced Tinker Bell. Never one to offer an opinion except to say yes or no, and so naïve she believes every word she's told."

Snow White's mouth opened in shock. "Emma! I'm surprised at you. Tinker Bell has never been anything but polite and welcoming toward you."

The burn of her mother's disappointment – not genuine shame – lit Emma's cheeks. It wasn't that she disliked the fairy girl; what her mother said was true. However, Emma had seen the way Neal Cassidy acted around her, had heard the rumors. The older generation made no attempt to hide their theory that the Cassidy family would look to strengthen their alliance with the Bells through marriage of their children.

"What's this?" Prince Charming approached Snow White and Emma, concern clouding his eyes. "I can't have my favorite girls frowning on such a beautiful day."

Snow White leaned in to accept Charming's kiss on her cheek. "Who's frowning?" She teased, gracing him with a wide smile. "Is everything ready?"

Emma couldn't contain her own slight grin as she watched her mother successfully navigate her father toward the awaiting carriage and away from his original observation. Just another of Snow White's many talents, she reasoned. Someday, perhaps she would be able to command a man's attention so thoroughly, and for more than just her beauty. But for now, she would work with what she had.

"Here you are. Be sure to keep this tucked around you," Granny instructed as she wrapped a lace shawl around Emma's bare shoulders. "I still say this dress is indecent," she commented under her breath.

Choosing to ignore Granny's remark, Emma tilted her face toward the azure sky and breathed deeply. "Wish me luck, Granny. My father's right; today is a beautiful day." Then, with the sun shining its blessing down upon her – at least that's how Emma saw it – she stepped into the carriage.

* * *

Thanks for reading! Thoughts?


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

Emma had always enjoyed leisurely carriage rides. She loved watching the verdant forest, rolling hills, and crystalline brooks from the comfort of her cushioned seat. As a child, she'd even begged her father to prolong their journeys by taking the circuitous path along the sandy cliffs – thrilled by the view of distant ships moored in the shallows of the tiny seaside village – before returning to their estate. But today the steady rocking of the cabin and the rhythmic groaning of the wheels grated on her nerves. Twice her father asked her if she wished to get out and push the carriage, given her impatience.

As the Cassidy's manor home came into view, the carriage seemed to move even more slowly. Or, perhaps the sudden racing of Emma's pulse made everything else seem sluggish by comparison. Dozens of carriages lined the drive, waiting their turn to deliver one important guest or another to the front entrance where the young lord would welcome them. "Must we wait?" She declared.

Prince Charming smirked, his eyes twinkling with merriment. "I thought it was fashionable to arrive late?"

"Improves the anticipation," Snow White added.

Emma sighed and settled back against her seat. Across from her, Snow White and Charming shared a look before chuckling. Charming rapped his knuckles twice on the carriage wall before calling to the driver, "Pull to the front, please." He smiled at Emma. "My princess has a party to attend."

The moment the carriage stopped, Emma moved to step out, scarcely noticing the hand lent to her by one of the footmen. Her eyes were already affixed to the young man waiting to greet them. She studied every detail, noting the silver waist coat perfectly tailored to his form and the carefully groomed waves of his brown hair. But as always, it was his smile that drew her in; the way he looked at her as if her presence lit up his entire existence.

Neal took several steps forward to meet Emma, his warm hands already capturing her palm in a gentle squeeze. "Emma, it's so good to see you. I'm so glad you were able to come."

Emma licked her lips, peering at him through half-lidded eyes. "Are you?" She exhaled. "I mean, yes, of course. I wouldn't have missed it for the world."

"Lord Cassidy, thank you for inviting us," Prince Charming spoke as he joined his daughter. Snow White flanked Emma's other side, nodding once in agreement.

"You honor us with your presence, your majesties," Neal replied with a slight bow. "You remember my sister, of course. Ariel?" He looked behind him and gestured to a young woman clad in a somber mauve gown. Her rich, auburn hair would be enviable were it not twisted into a tight knot at the nape of her neck. Combined with the sour expression she directed toward Emma, Ariel Cassidy was almost the antithesis of her brother.

"Why Ariel Cassidy, if I didn't know better I'd say you weren't happy to see us," Emma remarked, her voice laden with practiced charm and just a sting of venom.

Rising from her curtsy, Ariel smiled tightly at Emma. "Princess Emma, what a lovely gown you're wearing." She looked pointedly at Emma's exposed décolletage.

"Yes, well, it is a bit warm today, don't you agree?" Dismissing Ariel, Emma smiled at Neal, her green eyes shining with adoration. "I do hope we'll have a chance to speak later."

"I'd like that. There's something I'd very much like to speak with you about," Neal shared.

Emma's grin blossomed along with her spirit. Any lingering annoyance at Ariel's insipid reception was completely blanketed by an almost painful hope. "Until later, then," she commented, allowing her parents to lead her further onto the grounds.

Despite the parade of attendees still waiting their turn in their gilded carriages, the reception at Cassidy Manor was already teeming with the Enchanted Forest's aristocracy. Men and women garbed in their finest ensembles tittered and gossiped in one conversation or another, though all paused to incline their head as the royal family wandered by. Emma reveled in the attention, noting many a gentleman staring almost slack-jawed as she passed. She greeted each in turn, and giggled to herself as she took in their companions' jealous glares. Of course it was all in jest; she had no real designs on any of them. But to be wanted was a heady feeling. And it was hardly her fault if she drew their attention when the other ladies did not.

"Emma!" Turning toward the sudden exclamation, Emma had just enough time to recognize her friend before Belle wrapped her in a tight embrace. "Oh, I've missed you. And I've so much to tell you!" She entwined her arm with Emma's and waved to Queen Snow White and Prince Charming before leading their daughter away. Her large, vibrant eyes were positively giddy with whatever secrets she was bursting to share.

"And no doubt I'll be green with envy when you're done," Emma chided, though the truth of her words was closer than Belle knew. She paused and looked over her friend, taking in the healthy glow of her skin and the exotic fabric of her gown. "You look radiant, Belle. Clearly this trip was just what you needed."

Belle clutched Emma's hands. "It really was, and…" her mouth scrunched as she worried at her lower lip. "I met someone."

A tiny seed of resentment burned in Emma's stomach. She swallowed thickly to keep it from bubbling to the surface. "Did you? Well that's surprising." Some of the excitement in Belle's eyes waned, though Emma didn't notice. "I didn't realize any of the aristocracy lived in those parts."

"He's not part of the gentry," Belle explained. "He's a merchant. More of an artist, really."

Emma held back a laugh. "An artist? Oh Belle, please tell me you haven't fallen for a vagabond. You know he's likely only after your money."

Belle tilted her chin up, her lips stretched in a forced smile. "He's a tailor. He creates his own fabrics and designs. He made this dress for me," she explained, standing back to showcase her gown to its fullest extent. "He hopes to open his own store once he's saved enough money."

Something in Belle's tone finally reached Emma's conscience. Resolve with a dash of hurt lingered in her features where joy had shined so brightly only moments before. Emma sighed then looked over Belle's gown with fresh eyes. The design was unique, and the embroidery rivaled some of her mother's finest garments. "He's very talented," Emma offered. "It's a shame you have to wait to be together."

Belle was quiet for a long moment before she nodded briskly. "Hopefully not too long," she replied, her voice quieter than it had been, but full of warmth once more. "And you?" Belle inquired. "Any advancements with your own romantic pursuits?"

Emma blushed, her eyes sweeping over the nearby guests discreetly. "Neal asked to speak with me later. He said he had something important to discuss with me."

Belle grinned. "Oh Emma, that's wonderful!"

"Shhh," Emma cautioned, inexplicably uncomfortable with Belle's reaction. Her eyes swept the crowd dispersed across the vast lawn, checking that their conversation had not been overheard. A group of gentleman stood nearby, engaged in some heated debate. Emma could just make out enough of their words to grasp they were speaking of the recent ogre attacks on the edges of the Enchanted Forest. She rolled her eyes; it seemed all the young men were besotted with the idea of war. Even here, amidst glamorous revelry, they insisted upon reviving the dull conversation. Except for her Neal. He surely would give no further attention to such nonsense.

As if sensing her eyes on him, one of the men suddenly met her gaze. Emma gasped as a strange sensation raced through her veins. His eyes were an incredible shade of blue – akin to the deep waters she once appreciated on a sailing voyage with her father. And like those waters, she found herself drawn to search the depths of him. His hair was nearly black, as were his thick brows and his trim beard, though oddly, his whiskers were tinted with shades of chestnut, too. A thin scar decorated his cheek and added to his overall mystique. She wondered how he'd come to gain that scar, and what it would feel like if she were to run her fingertips over it.

The man lifted one of his brows in question before winking at her. Heat flushed her cheeks and Emma spun away, overcome with sudden anger. At least, that's what it felt like: raw, exposed emotion churning within. How dare he look at her in such a manner? Who was this man, exactly?

"Emma? Are you alright?" Belle asked softly.

Emma peeked over her shoulder once more, watching as the man lifted a silver flask to his lips. Of course he would be drinking alcohol already. He practically _screamed_ scoundrel! Catching her eye once more, he grinned at her – a lopsided smirk which hinted at sinful doings. He let his gaze roam freely over Emma's figure before lifting his flask toward her in a silent salute.

Emma growled. "Who is that man?"

"That's Captain Killian Jones," Belle answered, not realizing Emma had been commenting to herself.

"You know him?"

"I know of him," Belle clarified. "They say he's from a noble family, but they won't have anything to do with him because of his involvement in some past disgrace."

Emma glanced back once more. The captain was listening to the conversation, though he lacked the mask of fervor all the other young men seemed to wear when discussing the rumors of war. "He looked at me like he was imagining me without my clothes on," Emma confessed.

"How scandalous," Belle remarked. Standing on her tiptoes, she peered behind Emma to capture one last look at the man in question, releasing a small squeak when Emma pulled her away.

"I'm tired of talking about him. Let's go inside. Neal should be nearly finished greeting the other guests," Emma said, straightening her spine and holding her head high like the princess she was.

The two women chatted amiably as they followed the cobblestone path leading from the lawn into Cassidy Manor. A grand staircase dominated the foyer, crowned by a chandelier the size of a war horse, encrusted with countless crystals. "Look!" Belle exclaimed, pointing toward the top of the stairs. "There's Tinker Bell. I heard the fairies might be here. Oh, let's go say hello."

"Must we?" Emma retorted, a slight whine in her tone. "She'll want to tell us all about Neverland again."

"It's the polite thing to do," Belle said. "Besides, last I heard she was staying with Queen Regina. I'm sure she'll have a lot of interesting news to share about that."

Emma exhaled slowly as she curled her fingers tightly in the fabric of her skirt. Of course Tinker Bell had also spent last season travelling. It seemed everyone had the chance to explore other realms except the actual princess. Meanwhile, Emma was treated to boring tutorials designed to improve her elocution, poise, and political mind. As if Neal Cassidy would be incapable of negotiating treaties without the assistance of his wife and Queen.

"There you are," spoke a familiar voice. "I've been looking for you."

As swiftly as it arose, Emma's ire expelled from her body. Thoughts of the winsome fairy and the darkly handsome man were forgotten as she turned to address Neal. "I've just come in from the gardens," she explained, immediately cursing herself for her response. As she was still standing in the entryway, it was clear that she'd just entered the hall.

Neal smiled nonetheless. That same worshipful quality in his expression eased Emma's spirit. He sought her out. He wanted to speak with her, specifically. And most importantly, she still caused him to brighten even when he was already immersed in pleasantries. "I'm sorry to have kept you waiting. You know all about these formalities, I'm sure."

Emma nodded enthusiastically. "Of course. And it's fine. I was able to visit with Belle."

Neal suddenly looked at Belle as if just noticing her presence. "Ah yes; Lady French. I don't believe I had the chance to greet you personally upon your arrival."

Belle laughed. "Your sister was most inviting. But my father and I thank you for your hospitality."

Emma smiled warmly at the pair of them, pleased at Neal's gentle manners and his ability to instantly put those around him at ease. Not like some other men with their flirtatious smiles and dangerous eyes. No, she wouldn't give _him_ any more thought. She would enjoy every moment of this gathering and tonight she'd be dancing in Neal's arms.

"There she is," Neal spoke softly, his gaze directed beyond both Emma and Belle. Turning, Emma's eyes widened as Tinker Belle approached them. The young woman had admittedly changed for the better in the year since Emma had seen her. Long ringlets of gold cascaded over her shoulders, nearly rivaling Emma's own shining locks. Her cherubic face had lost some of its roundness, leaving a delicate nose and a pert mouth in its wake.

Tinker Bell stopped next to Neal and a stab of confusion assailed Emma's heart when he casually wrapped his arm around her waist. "Princess Emma, it's such a pleasure to see you again," she said.

Emma wished her words were laced with insincerity. She wanted those violet eyes to show a touch of malice or envy, if only to match the emotions rioting in her own soul. She would not be jealous of a fairy. Surely Neal was just being overly friendly, as he was known for. "Likewise," she managed to choke out. "I trust your journey was agreeable? It's such a far distance from Neverland. It really is quite generous of your father to travel so far just for a ball."

Neal and Tinker Bell smiled in unison, looking briefly at each other. "Tink's not just here for the ball, Emma." He paused, searching her expression. Did he see the confusion in her eyes? Did he know how perilously he held her heart in the grips of his words? "She's my fiancée."

No. Emma's mind went blank. The only word she could process was the seemingly innocuous one-syllable word. No. He didn't know…he couldn't know. "That's wonderful," she heard herself say – the years of ingrained courtly manners responding automatically. Distantly, she realized Tinker Bell was still speaking, but her thoughts could only focus on that tiny word. "Excuse me," she blurted out. "I think my mother needs me. Congratulations."

Relying on that same innate strength – the one she flaunted whenever she encountered unpleasantness, she forced her feet to step away.

* * *

**A/N:** Boom!

I don't normally post so quickly; however, it was important (at least to me) to get a glimpse of Killian as soon as possible. I hope you are enjoying this little retelling...it would mean a lot to me if you'd drop me a line, just a little encouragement. While it is 'fun' to write, it's much more fun when you know you are writing for an audience. So, if you're out there, don't be afraid to say hello. :)


	3. Chapter 3

_In which Scarlett!Emma comes face to face with Rhett!Hook :) _

_**Disclaimer**: For posterity, several lines of dialogue will be quite...familiar...(property of OUAT and GWTW)_

**Chapter Three**

Emma rapped her palm against the thick duvet with an agitated petulance; the air of the large bedroom was stifling in spite of the servants waving large fans lazily over the dozing women. As much as she relished these all-day gatherings, she'd happily disregard the custom of resting between the afternoon picnic and the evening's festivities. After all, napping was for children and she was hardly a child. Perhaps these other ninnies were content to play their parts, or maybe they genuinely required the period of rejuvenation, but not Emma; no, she would much prefer passing the time amidst the lively discourse enjoyed by the gentleman, _especially_ with the thoughts currently biting at her conscience.

How could Neal conceivably choose that simpering fairy over her? Emma's mirthless green eyes drifted over the sleeping form of Tinker Bell, narrowing at the gentle rise and fall of her slight bosom, so different from her own ample frame. Neal couldn't possibly find the girl more attractive than her, nor was she blessed with a particular wit or dazzling personality. Was her gentle obedience and calm disposition so greatly appealing? Was Neal so desperate for a wife that he latched on to the first offer laid before him? Emma couldn't imagine Tinker Bell having enough fortitude to reject the suit once made, and Neal's unwavering politeness and manner would have him see the marriage through so long as nothing impeded the arrangement. If only her father had pushed forth her own hand at her first urging; Neal would've been in doubt of Emma's sincere interest.

Emma sat up suddenly. That was it! Neal didn't _know_ she loved him. Could she really blame him for accepting Tinker Bell when he was so clearly ready to settle down and too gentlemanly to make assumptions about the welcome of his advances? She would just have to make her intentions plain. A steely determination gripped her spirit, and suddenly, the glower she'd directed toward Tinker Bell softened into a deliberate grin. If she handled this right, she'd potentially be fixing _both_ of their futures.

Slipping carefully from the large bed so as not to disturb Belle and ignoring the disapproval tightly leashed upon the servants' faces, she donned her kid heels and moved toward the door. She paused at the large mirror hung beside the vanity to pinch her cheeks and smooth her hair – inordinately pleased at the way the fading light of day burnished her tresses a deep gold – before stepping lightly into the hall. The house fairly sagged with the heavy quiet accompanying sleep. Emma had the distinct impression of trespassing in some deserted manor until the muffled strains of heated conversation drew her focus to the foyer just beneath the balcony she stood in.

"Deny it all you wish, Captain, but war is coming and any man unwilling to fight can hardly call himself a man at all!" a somewhat familiar, yet highly agitated voice remarked.

"If rational thinking and a penchant for caution are the making of a coward, then perhaps you have sussed my character most expediently." The second man replied, his smooth, cultured tone foreign to Emma's ears.

The first man said something else, but his words were indistinguishable from her current position. Intrigued, Emma crept carefully to the grand staircase, removing her shoes to silence her footsteps as she took the steps one by one. Peering over the banister, she recognized Ariel Cassidy's beau, Eric Delmar, standing stiffly beside Neal. Both men stood opposite another known figure, only this was a person she'd hoped never to encounter again. Contrary to Eric's indignant expression, Captain Killian Jones looked completely unaffected by the taunts of cowardice. Instead, he reached into his pocket and pulled out the flask again, tipping it in salute to the incensed man and smiling, his pearly teeth mocking in a roguish sort of way.

With a curse, Eric turned on his heel and departed for the lounge to join the other gentleman, likely seeking more like-minded conversation and a tumbler of brandy, Emma suspected. Younger than Neal and herself by nearly two years, she'd always found Eric to be full of the zealous vigor afflicting many young men of the gentry; too much idle time and too little consideration of others led to hotheadedness and a healthy ego. She'd always got on well with the young lord of Delmar – he was openly enamored of her, a fact which terribly vexed Ariel – but aside from innocent flirting, she didn't have much use for him or his rough ways.

"You'll have to excuse Lord Delmar. His land has suffered greatly from frequent raids made by the Ogres," Neal spoke softly to the captain. Emma's face shifted into a gentle smile. Trust Neal to be charitable even to one such as Captain Jones. "Though, I can definitely see the merits of acting with caution."

For his part, the captain's wide, easy grin lost some of its mocking. "You're very kind to consider both of our viewpoints." That unfamiliar, rich voice she'd heard a moment before belonged to him and Emma found she quite liked the lilt of his accent. _Always find something admirable in every person_, her mother had advised. Scoundrel he may be, but he certainly presented himself well enough. As her thoughts wondered over the captain, he spoke again: "I suspect you'd deny me were I to ask after your unguarded opinion about this looming war?"

Neal laughed. "Always the consummate host, or so I'm told. But in truth, I fear Delmar may be correct in stating allegiances will have to be made, and soon."

Captain Jones took a swift swig from his flask before tucking it back inside his coat. His hand lifted to his ear, tugging slightly on a small, jeweled earring before gesturing before him. "Aye. But until that time comes it's every man for himself, isn't that right?"

Emma puzzled over the captain's words. From her vantage point, she couldn't really see Neal's face, yet it was clear in the slight tension between the two men that there was more to his meaning than what was simply stated. After a brief pause, Neal replied, "You are most welcome here, Captain, I assure you. Won't you join us for a drink? The ladies should be returning shortly."

Captain Jones smiled again, only the carefree expression never quite reached his eyes. Strange, Emma thought, that she could read him so well. "Thank you, but I think I would quite enjoy a closer look at your vast estate. If you'll permit me?"

After begging his leave, the captain sauntered toward the main entrance. Neal watched him for a moment before turning back toward the lounge. Seeing her opportunity present itself, Emma hurried down the last few steps and called out in a hushed voice; "Neal!"

"Emma?" Neal approached her cautiously. "What's the matter? Are you well?" His soft brown eyes swept over her with genuine alarm, noting her bare feet.

Suddenly faced with her conquest, Emma was struck by a deep bout of shyness completely contradicting her normal bravado. She hastily slipped her shoes back on before replying, "Yes…yes of course." Her eyes dropped to her fingers, plucking carelessly at the ribbons of her gown. The words which had been burning in her mind only moments ago were blocked by her rapid pulse.

"Why aren't you resting? You know you'll be dead on your feet with all the dancing you'll be asked to do this evening," Neal commented, the affection in his voice all the encouragement Emma needed.

Raising her eyes, she was again struck at the kindness shining in his gaze. "Oh Neal, I must speak with you."

Concern once again flooded Neal's face. "Of course," he granted. Taking her elbow loosely in his grasp, he led her to a private parlor off the entrance hall. Shutting the doors tightly behind them, he smoothed his hand down her arm before stepping a respectful distance away. "What can I do for you?"

Emma's fingers twisted together once more as her thoughts scrambled into some semblance of a convincing argument. In the end, she threw caution to the wind, clutching at Neal's waist-coat and lifting onto her toes to press her lips against his in a rushed kiss. "I love you. You don't have to marry Tinker Bell; I know you love me, too," her words spilled forth before she captured his mouth again.

Emma's pulse thrummed wildly through her veins, pounding in her mind like a drum. How many nights had she dreamt of kissing Neal Cassidy? Of being wrapped in his embrace while his lips worshipped her mouth and their hearts beat in tandem? And finally, she was exactly where she'd always wanted to be; only, this wasn't how she'd always envisioned it. The lips beneath hers were warm, but unyielding. Her body felt cold, lacking the heated cage of strong arms. Opening her eyes, she saw a stunned pair staring back at her.

Gasping, Emma stepped back even more quickly than she'd advanced. Neal watched her with equal parts shock and amusement. No, not amusement; surely he was too polite for that? Surely he didn't take sport from her feelings? Spots of pink highlighted his cheeks and his hands clenched into useless fists at his side. "Emma…" he started to say, but words clearly escaped him.

"Tell me you love me, too," she demanded, terrified of the mounting humiliation prickling over her skin.

Neal's expression shifted, sadness replacing everything else. "How could I _not_ love you? You, so like an unending summer…more beautiful than a sunrise and just as full of light."

Confused by his conflicting words, Emma whispered urgently: "Then marry me, Neal. We can be happy."

Neal smiled sweetly, almost condescendingly so. "Oh Emma; you're far too generous. You offer yourself to me, even knowing I could never make you truly happy?"

"But you could…you do!" she cried, but Neal simply took her hand and shook his head lightly.

"It warms my heart to hear you say so. You are such a good friend to me."

_Friend_. Emma slowly pulled her hand from his grasp. "What are you saying?"

"I'm going to marry Tinker Bell. She and I…well, we _fit_." And you and I don't, he left unsaid. Or at least that's how she imagined it.

"But you love me…" Emma said once more. Looking at Neal, she did indeed see grand affection in his eyes, but also a sort of pity. He held her gaze but said no more. Enraged at his lack of response and drowning in embarrassment, she scarcely knew what she was doing. As her palm connected with his cheek with a loud crack, she spat, "I hate you Neal Cassidy! I'll hate you forever!"

Neal winced, but made no sound. Nodding once, he turned from her and left the room, the sharp click of the door latch like a punctuation mark to a conversation she wished had never happened. Only, it wasn't enough. The torrent of emotions still swirled through her body, clouding her rational mind. Seeing a small porcelain fairy sitting on a nearby end table, Emma's rage heightened. She grasped the figurine and flung it with all her might at the fireplace on the other end of the room, the splintering crash only slightly appeasing her temper.

"Oy! Has the war started already, then?" came a voice she'd only recently been acquainted with.

Swift mortification doused any remaining flames of Emma's anger as Captain Killian Jones suddenly appeared from behind a settee which faced the fireplace, his arms held above his head in supplication. A playful smirk decorated his far too handsome face.

"You should have made yourself known, sir!" Emma choked out amidst the dose of ice parading through her veins. She hastily wiped away the tears stinging her eyes.

Captain Jones rose to his full height, stepping around the piece of furniture to face Emma directly, hands still held before him. It was then that Emma noticed something different about his appearance: where before he'd clearly had two leather-clad hands, the left one was now replaced with a shiny, silver hook.

"And miss out on that touching declaration?" he teased. His unsettling blue eyes followed her gaze to his hook, the smirk on his lips tilting higher. "I don't believe we've had the pleasure of introductions. I'm –"

"I know who you are," Emma interrupted. "You're Captain Jones. You've got quite the reputation, you know."

The captain swept an arm before him in a mockery of a courtly bow. "So you've heard of me, then." It wasn't really a question; in truth he sounded rather pleased. "Only, most have taken to calling me by my more colorful moniker: Hook." He raised the appendage in a version of a wave, almost inviting her to question its appearance.

Emma straightened her posture and schooled her face into a bland sort of disinterest. "I'd hardly be proud of such a thing," she commented, even though her mind was swimming with curiosity. "That's something I'd expect of a pirate."

"And do you know many pirates, Princess?" he challenged, those damnable eyes twinkling at her expense. So he knew who she was, too, Emma noted; inexplicably pleased at the realization.

He was baiting her again, apparently taking some sort of pleasure in riling her. He'd done it without words earlier in the day; what damage could he cause with that charming tongue? Granny had warned her about staying clear of pirates. She didn't know from where or whence Killian Jones came, but clearly his character was more in league with the rapscallions of the sea than the gentry he was currently receiving hospitality from. Choosing to ignore his taunt, she reiterated her earlier point: "I don't know who you think you're speaking to, but I'll have you know that what you overhead wasn't intended for others' ears."

The captain…_Hook_…laughed sharply then stepped closer to her, lowering his voice. "I'd quite agree. The poor fellow was likely terrified of you!" His eyes roved carelessly over her figure again. "I'm sure it takes a certain kind of man to handle the likes of you."

Emma sucked in her breath, but it did little to fan the flames licking across her cheeks. "You, sir, are no gentleman."

Hook chuckled again before staring seriously into her flustered face. "And you, madam, are no lady."

For the second time in less than a quarter hour, Emma found herself speechless in front of a man. Somehow, Hook had encroached on her space to the point that she could detect the faint trace of the ocean clinging to his clothes, sending her thoughts spiraling to those wild, carefree dreams she held for freedom on the high seas. His blue eyes only made it worse. Emma felt her breath tighten as she met his intense gaze. Everything about him radiated danger, but for what exactly she wasn't sure. She should be reviled by him…should call for her father, but something stayed her words.

Perhaps sensing he'd finally succeeded in distressing her to the point of deference, Hook again bowed before her then moved toward the door. His retreating footsteps broke whatever momentary spell Emma had succumbed to. "You can't tell anyone about this," she urged.

Hook looked back at her, eyes lit with wry amusement. "And tarnish your sterling reputation? Or worse, that of Neal Cassidy?"

"You aren't fit to wipe his boots!" Emma growled, feeling her ire rise again with the power of a tornado.

At this, Hook's face split in another wide grin. "And you were going to hate him forever." Before she could get another word in edgewise, he slipped from the room, leaving her to stew in her own indignation.

Emma seethed. She hated not having the last word. Stupid scoundrel sea captains and their stupid blue eyes! Glancing around the room, she considered finding something else to break, but something about what he'd said – about her not being a lady – had her slumping into a chair instead of taking out her anger on some other unsuspecting decoration. She didn't care what he thought of her; she really didn't. But who was he to cast such aspersions on her? Or Neal for that matter? She had half a mind to tell Neal what kind of character this Captain Killian Jones really was.

The soft clacking of heels on the marble floor of the entrance hall broke her cloud of annoyance. Casting her eyes at the shaded window, she noticed nighttime was descending much quicker than she'd realized. The other women were likely already preparing for the ball. With a self-indulgent sigh she pushed to her feet and smoothed her hands over her dress then pushed the scant fabric from her shoulders. Her dance card for the evening was full, including two with Neal. A pulse of unease crept through her chest. While she had meant those parting words to Neal at the time, she hoped he knew she was just hurt and lashing out. Surely he knew she was just as honest in admitting her love for him?

Pledging to forget everything which had transpired in this stuffy little room over the past half hour and return to Neal's good graces, she plastered a coquettish grin on her face and stepped out into the hall.

* * *

**A/N:** I have no idea if anyone is even still interested in this, but I was inspired to keep going. This scene in particular was one I was really itching to write. If you enjoyed it, please let me know. Thanks for reading! :)


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